From the Depths of Tartarus
by Ninjangsta
Summary: Muffled voices reach his ears from the depths of the void. They must be calling him, he thinks, waiting for him to join them in their everlasting hell. Is it done, then? Has he finally perished and traded one hell in exchange for another?


**' _At thy birth I fortified thee with the stern waters of Styx'*_**

His first memory is of water.

As is his last.

It's always water.

The sea, the river, it's all the same. James Delaney's memories of life begin and apparently end in a submerged world. He remembers very little of his mother, but for some odd reason, the water reminds him of her. He sees her face, he hears her voice in a language he thinks he should know but never learned. He feels her hands on his body, holding him firmly just below the surface of the water. Her profile is visible to him above. The white paint on her face is cracking and giving her what could be the likeness of a broken china doll, but the rippling water is warping her features in a way that makes her appear much more ghoulish. It's more than an image in his mind, but a feeling that conjures both adoration and uneasiness.

It's never made sense to James though, this memory. He wonders if it's a memory at all as his last shreds of consciousness begin to slip away, sinking into the depths of the ocean where he supposes his spirit will soon follow to be damned with the rest of the souls entombed on the Cornwallis.

It would be justice, would it not? He's not sure. It was Captain's orders, and he'd obliged.

But what did it matter now, as he no longer could muster the strength or the will to keep above the surface. He's taken on too much water, and the waves are relentless. The heaviness of his waterlogged clothes only complicates his struggle further and he feels as though he's being sucked into the void by the slaves he'd so thoughtlessly damned.

James feels the intense burn of the salty water ravage his sinuses and filling his lungs with each attempted breath; reflexive spasms taking control after he fails to hold what dry breath he had for any longer. His world is a dark and murky, greenish blue that's suddenly being engulfed by the increasing number of black spots invading his vision. The heart beat in his ears is ironically louder and louder before his world is finally completely black and void of all sensation until…

He can _actually_ _feel_ her hands on him now. Everything is still darkness all around, but the hands are there and for a moment he takes comfort in the sensation of being held by his mother once more. That tiny shred of uneasiness is still there though, and it begins to grow into something akin to fear when he starts to wonder if she was pulling him up, or dragging him down.

 **' _I take my son down to the void of Tartarus and dip him a second time in the springs of Styx. The Carpathian seer bids me banish these terrors by the ordinance of a magic rite, and purify the lad in secret waters beyond the bound of heavens vault…'**_**

Muffled voices reach his ears form the depths of the void. They must be calling him, he thinks, waiting for him to join them in their everlasting hell. Is it done, then? Has he finally perished and traded one hell in exchange for another?

 **' _Gods who hold sway over guilty souls and over Tartarus crowded with the damned, and thou O Styx, whom I behold, ghastly in thy shadowy depths.'***_**

The voices slowly become more clear, but their words are completely lost to him. He wants to reach out to them, call out to them, anything… but the world is black and nothingness, all except for their cries.

Except… he realizes they are not cries at all. They're calm, and controlled, and one phrase suddenly sticks. He's not even sure how he knows it.

"Wͻ nkwa"

 _Have life_

Life?

The next thing James knows he's hacking and vomiting warm and salty sea water and for a while all he knows is the burning in his chest. It eventually registers that he's on his side and there's a single hand holding him there, only to stabilize him as he continues to retch. After what seems like quite some time, his vision returns in bits and pieces. First, it's rocky white sand that he sees, and he realizes how uncomfortable he is in his sopping wet clothes that are caked in the wet sediment. Then, a single pair of bare feet and exposed shins come into focus just in front of him. He can just make out the chocolate brown skin beneath the sand that covers them as well. James notices the hand's absence and some part of him aches for it's return.

 **' _Dost think that now thou hast escaped the Styx and the cruel ghosts?'****_**

James hears one of the voices again, but he doesn't comprehend their words.

The language is vaguely familiar, but of all the many languages he's encountered along the West African coast, he's had little experience with this one. It's quite different from the ones spoken by those of the slaves he'd been transporting of late.

The feet and shins suddenly become an entire body squatting before him, not moving to touch, but merely examining the creature of the man retrieved from the sea.

The squatting figure is a man as well, dark-skinned and bare chested. He's not particularly tall, but he's well-built and healthy looking. His only clothing is a single cloth wrapped around his hips that is just slightly darker than the color of the sand he kneels on and it stops just at his knees. What James' is almost startled to note is what appears to be the remnants of white paint on the man's body, possibly clay. Most of it must have been washed off by the ocean water, but he can see streaks of it still running down the length of his body. It's already drying in places. It's a wonder any of it remained on his skin. James can't help but think there must be some sort of significance in this.

His savior's eyes are dark and intense as they consider the white man with skepticism but not fear. No, there is no fear in this man. James could see it in his eyes and in the essence of his being. This man had everything that James lacked.

This man had true power, over himself and the world around him. He had knowledge and wisdom. He had freedom.

This man hadn't simply saved James.

This man had a _use_ for him. 

* * *

I remember reading a review of the show a while ago where the writer had compared James and his mother's story to Thetis and Achilles and I couldn't stop thinking about it so I finally wrote something down. So, totally not my idea, but it gave me something to write about.

If you don't know the story, basically it goes like this. Thetis is a goddess forced to marry a mortal man against her will. She gives birth to Achilles, also a mortal, and out of a desperate attempt to make him immortal, she dips him in the river Styx. Apparently she missed his heel, the part she'd held him by, which would eventually be his demise.

In Greek mythology, Tartarus is the deep abyss that is used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked and as the prison for the Titans. Also considered a deity, and sometimes synonymous with river Styx is the boundary between Earth and the underworld, also a deity _._

Below is my attempt at sourcing the quotes used in this story. I tried? I felt they needed sourced. They're beautifully written but very much not mine. The following writers deserve the credit, veeery long dead as they may be. It was their words that inspired me.

*From the Roman poet Statius, his book Achilleid 1. 268. (translated by Mozley)

**Statius, Achilleid 1. 134

***Statius, Thebaid 1. 46

****From another Roman writer and philosopher Seneca, his book Hercules Furens 89 ff (translated by Miller)


End file.
